Plotted Out

I have the Ashes of the Fallen Books Plotted out to Nine Books, though in truth I only am sure I am going to have at least 8 books for this series where I am certain of their content.  The Ninth book may have to be made into more, so the series may actually be longer then nine books.

These are the titles I have for the Ashes of the Fallen Series, but I won't go into the plots of each book until I have samples I can offer up of them.

THE FIRST BOOK:  IN THE SHADOWS:
THE SECOND BOOK: SOULS OF IMMORTALITY:
THE THIRD BOOK: THE RENEGADE:
THE FOURTH BOOK: THE CAULDRON AND THE GREAT DRAGON:
THE FIFTH BOOK: SPIDERS IN THE WEB:
THE SIXTH BOOK:  FIRE IN DARKNESS:
THE SEVENTH BOOK: DARKNESS DESCENDING:
THE EIGHTH BOOK: ASHES AND FLAMES:
THE NINTH BOOK: THE WAR WITHOUT END?:

I have a question mark for two reasons on the last book.  The first being I'm not sure if that'll be the last book in this series or not.  Secondly it is a question wondered about by some of the characters within the final book. 

I will say this about the first book.  It is setting up everything that shall come throughout this series of books.

I shall also say that I have planned for this series to have a second set of books set in the future dealing with the children of the pivotal character of this world.  I am still not sure what I'll call the second series of books; but I have much of this already thought out.   I suppose the core of the Ashes of the Fallen Series deals with a Lay I'm struggling to write; since I'm bad at poetry but I wanted to have a center of this series and in ancient times most stories were told through lays and so you can see my issues.   But let's move on and I wish you all a happy new year.

Writers That Have Influenced Me

Today I thought I'd talk about some of the great writers that influenced me.   There have been numerous writers that have changed and helped to form my views, and hopefully this trend will continue as I discover other writers, whether old or new.   Life should be a process of growth and discovery until the ultimate ending of it.  A wise man admits his faults and limitations and realizes that there is more to understand and learn then is humanly possible.  Our time on this planet is very brief and there is never enough time to do all that we would wish.   The key is to do as much as we can with the time that is given to us.   These words have been said by many people in many different forms of medium and it is a deep truth.

But I am digressing from my point.   The first book that I read that made me think I wanted to be a writer was something from the Goosebumps Series of R.L. Stine and the Bunnicula series of books, again I was in the fourth grade at time that it struck me that I'd love to craft stories.   Since a young age I've always had a love of story and things of the imagination.   It did not occur to me until around the age of 11 that I loved to write, even though my biggest failing was and still is grammar and style.   These two concepts are very hard for me to master, and why I sometimes ask for help with my writing from friends who are better educated than me.

The first book I noticed that started to change my viewpoint or open eyes to the reality of the world was the Sword of Truth Series by Terry Goodkind.   And I enjoyed the subtle messages hidden within it through the art of storytelling; but when he started to beat my head with openly obvious lecturing I begin to lose interest in the story; when it become more about the messages he was preaching then the story.  The last story he wrote that I liked in that series of books was Faith of the Fallen, or something like that.   It's a good book on anti-communist ideas I think and the freedoms of the individual are more important than the conformity of a community and equality that doesn't really exist.   It was also during this time that I discovered other great writers that helped form my desires to be a writer, such as Harlan Ellison, Robert Asprin, C.L. Moore, Meredith Pierce, and J.R.R. Tolkien.  Much later I would come to discover the works of Hideyuki Kikuchi, Kaoru Kurimoto, Robert E. Howard,George R. Martin, Robert Heinlein, and many others.

The core authors that inspire me are;  Harlan Ellison, (you should check out the documentary on him called Dreams With Sharp Teeth) J.R.R. Tolkien, Robert E. Howard, and Hideyuki_Kikuchi.

A Sampling of my new Work, Horror of Hellgarde

Decided to post a little more up of the finished project than I did before.  Just have to save up the money for the cover and find an artist...oh yeah and think up what the cover should look like....:P  

HORROR OF HELLGARDE SAMPLE:




   “Do not speak lightly such names, Wiccan.”  the old man wagged his finger, “If it were me I should forget going all together.   Arizau was never a wholesome place, and since His death the curse has only made Hellwood worse.”

   The crimson banged, brunette Hultan seemed to mutter half to himself in a matter of factly tone, “That is my road, for good or ill.”

   The old man shook his head, “If you insist on going, Wiccan, at least see sense and hire a carriage or horse and give wide berth to those cursed woods.”

   “You know little of my kind, old man.   No beast of burden will bear my sorcerous weight.”

   The old man grunted and folded his arms across his chest, “Suit yourself.   Remember that I warned you, so don’t come haunting me after some fiend has gnawed out your guts.”

   “And for that you have my sincere thanks old man.  It is more then most would have given one of my kind.”   With that the Hultan known as Mordecai, once of House Lee, again began to traverse the road towards Arizau.  The scowling figure of the old man sitting on the step of the ramshackle inn faded into the distance.  For an ordinary traveler on foot the next village, Rakrow, lay four days ahead, however for the Hultan it had taken little more than a day and a half.   

   The Hultan struck an impressive image as he strode into the silent village of Rakrow.  The setting sunlight had cast an unearthly aura over his dark locks and blood red bangs, his dark blue, weather beaten traveler’s cloak and black body glove armor made him appear like some feared demon out of the ancient legends.  His golden eyes shimmered in the fading sunlight as he surveyed the village.   The dirt streets were completely empty of all human traffic, and nervous eyes peered from shuttered windows.  As he drew closer to the center of the village he could make out four shadowy figures waiting for him.  

   Mordecai stopped before this small force.   Their leader appeared to be a middle aged man in  worn leather pants, a faded blue shirt, with a dusty brown vest covering it.   On that dusty vest rested a faded star, the badge of his constable position within this village.  This constable kept an old saber strapped to his hip. Mordecai smelt fear rolling off of him; but despite that the constable seemed to be putting up a brave front as the wealthy seeming man, no doubt the village’s mayor, flanked him with the town’s doctor at the other flank and some youthful deputy taking the rear guard position, only the mayor and constable bearing swords as the other two held clubs in their hands, but all four seemed filled with superstitious fear.
   
   The constable‘s hand rested uneasily on the pommel of his saber, “We don’t take kindly to strangers, especially ones like you.”  It was at that point that the one the Hultan took to be the village mayor spoke up, “We have never welcomed servants of the Old Boyars.  Best you slink back into whatever hell pit you crawled out from.”

   The doctor and youth muttered, “Yeah.”

   Mordecai had expected such a reaction reaction.   It was how many villagers reacted to the presence of Hultans and other ‘unnatural’ creatures.  He did not hold their distrust against them, after all it was distrust and staying vigilant that kept a village around longer than those that openly let in strangers.  And it was not like some of the constable’s words were untrue.  In the past many Hultans had been the servants of the vampyre, known as the Nobility or in the case of peasants as the Old Boyars.

   Mordecai informed those gathered before him, “I am no servant to the Old Boyars.  I am merely passing through to Arizau.”

   The constable’s warning came swiftly to his lips, “Then keep moving, demon eyes.”

   The mayor at that point spoke up again in a quivering voice, “And never pass through here again.”

   Mordecai felt those hateful, nervous eyes boring into his back as he continued to make his way through the village, and back out onto the road.  The Hultan had decided that he would put some distance between himself and Rakrow before taking his rest for the night.

The Three Rules To Being A Great Writer

Three Rules To Becoming A Great Writer

I know I was going to keep my private life on a different blog; but this idea came from my anime addiction.  I was watching Bakuman and it got me thinking, what are The Three Rules To Being A Great Writer.   Not that I'm there yet, so take this with the proper grains of salt as I am still an aspiring author, despite the fact I have self published a short story on the Nook.

THE THREE RULES OF A BEING A GREAT WRITER

1.   WRITE!!!

2.  HARD WORK AND PERSEVERANCE

3.  LUCK
______________________________________________________________

1. Write!

The first rule is obvious, you cannot be a writer unless you write something.   Some may wonder why I have no mention of the word edit.   But I lump that in under writing.   Write your work, write notes on your rough drafts on what needs improving and re-write it.   Write and rewrite your work as though you are a polishing a gem and refining it; because that is exactly what a writer does, he finds a rock and polishes and hopefully there is a gem within it.  Sometimes there is no gem and you have to pick up another rock and keep hoping and writing.  However you must take care not to fall into the trap that happens to many writers, they spend far to much time rewriting and rewriting over and over and never get anything published.   It's hard to know when you've revised your work enough, but at some point you must look at your manuscript and ask yourself are you just frightened of seeing rejection or is it truly not ready yet for public consumption?  

No matter what you must write.  Which goes into the second rule.

2.  Hard Work and Perseverance

If you're not gifted as a writer, then you must work hard on your writing and improving yourself.   Do research, read books on grammar,  find your weak points and hone them into strengths as much as you possible can.  You must work hard and never give up.   Even if you a thousand doors slam in your face you have to keep trudging onward and believe in your work and yourself, and sometimes you may have to open the door yourself and shout out loud for others to hear you.     Basically what I'm saying is that if you try to publish the traditional way, through publishers you'll face rejection and if you self publish you'll have much more hard work ahead of you to get others to read your works.  In the case of self publishing you'll have to save up money not only for your book (if you want a paperback/hardback one) but you'll have to save up money for your cover illustrator or inside art illustrator.   You must write in every spare moment you have when you're not at your day/night job.  Even if it's not your story you're working on, writing a blog entry or a letter or anything involving writing, but you must be writing a lot.  That's my problem, I get distracted easily and lose focus.  But to be a great writer you must not lose focus.   Your goal is to write and work hard on your writing.

3.  Luck

There are literally millions if not billions of books out there, and the likelihood of anyone picking up your pick is slim.   So luck is the third and final rule in my opinion.   And I'll end it here on this third rule.  

Check It Out

Again promoting my short story on here.

Synopsis:  CHILDREN ABDUCTED IN THE NIGHT.

A lone friar journeys into the demon infested North Woods to find these missing children.

You can get it on the Nook:

Wolves of North Wood

And you can also get it on the Kindle:

Wolves of the North Wood


The cost is only a mere $1.25 USD

A Little Sampling of the Wolves of North Wood:

    The tendrils of smoke caressed her time worn face, and stung her grayish blue eyes. Eyes that sought form in the smoke and flames.   Aldrah, one of the less harmful Witches of the North Woods, remained crouched before her hearth as her withered, bony hands snatched up one of the herbs laid out before her.   She tossed it into the fire; eagerly watching as the small blaze licked and snapped and devoured the bit of herb.

    A rap at her door sounded; but she did not hear it; lost in her flame scrying.  Again the rap sounded only louder and more insistent and still Aldrah's mind refused to give heed to her visitor in the night.  After all none were foolish enough to brave the night of the North Woods.  And one who would live in the North Woods would be even more a fool to open the door on such a wintry night; fore demons often came for the souls of humans during such times.

    The knock came more urgent now; almost breaking her concentration.  Unconsciously she hissed at the door, “Go away wretch!” as she redoubled her effort to ignore the knocking and focus upon the images within the hearth.  Her hand unconsciously threw another handful of herbs into the flames, the vision in her mind’s eyes growing clearer.  The door slammed inward as a figure wrapped in a dark blue traveling cloak and body glove armor of midnight black stood framed in the door of Aldrah’s home.   Within the stranger’s hands was a creature neither wholly human nor fully wolf.

    The monotone typical of his kind sprang from the shadowed figure's lips, "You are Aldrah the Harridan of the North Woods?"

    His voice had yanked her out of the trance, the flames in the hearth leaped up high and then smothered themselves.   Aldrah coughed and gagged as nothing but smoke erupted around her at the spell's breaking.

    She snarled upset at her spell weaving's distruption, "Yes!  I am Aldrah!  What business do you have with me?!"

    Aldrah looked to her visitor and recognized what this figure was at once.  The old witch easily knew him for what he was by those golden eyes hidden within the shadows of his cloak's hood.  She knew a Hultan when her old eyes beheld one, and after all only a Hultan would be brave or foolish enough to dare the dangers of the North Woods at night.

    He had thrown the wolf fiend towards her as he informed her, "I seek someone."

    Aldrah rasped as her hand immediately thrusted out palm up towards the stranger as she understood what he had no doubt come for, "Ah!"

    The figure in dark shades of blue withdrew a pouch from his cloak and emptied a few silver coins into that waiting palm.  Aldrah knew these coins to be mostly pure silver from their weight.   She had an eye or rather a good hand for the purity of coinage, it was one of the many unnatural talents she possessed as a witch.  The old harridan knew the worth of silver, both it’s financial and magical value.

    Her yellow toothed face grinned up at the stranger, "So Hultan, this fiend?  It is no doubt related to who you seek."   Aldrah hobbled over to the fiend's corpse that had been tossed towards her.  She grunted a little as she pulled the dagger from the cord about her waist.  "Usually an augury cost much more, but since we are something close to brethren, you and I, this shall be sufficient."

    He merely nodded his head in silent agreement with her as she knelt over it.  She began anointing special oils onto the blade and chanting in the ancient tongues of man.  The wickedly pointed dagger gleamed with another worldly magic as she turned her haggard face back to the Hultan, "Tell me who is it you seek?"

    "I have been hired to slay the Wolf Witch of the North Woods."  he told her.

    She gleefully cackled as her dagger bit deeply into the fiend's flesh, cold blood splattered onto her face. Her hand ever so careful and meticulous as it cut away the furry flesh.   Once the cut had been made her wrinkled hands plunged into the animal’s stomach and began gently pulling out the vital ingredient to any augury, the intestine, and handling it with the care a mother shows to her favored child.

******

    "Damn it,' Friar Abe Fisher cursed under his breath as he tried to remain calm.   His hands shook violently as he reloaded Gabriel.   This .62 caliber belt pistol had been passed down in the Fisher Family for so many generations that not even Abe's great grandfather knew when this silver trimmed firearm had come into the family's ownership.   His left hand braced the white stock of Gabriel as his right hand's index finger rested uneasily upon the trigger.   The name Gabriel glistened in the silver along the gun's twelve barrel reflecting the light of a setting red sun; spilling out across the horizon like a wound.

    Abe's heart raced as he stood alone; trying to hold the belt pistol steady.  His hide boots gripped firmly onto the snow crested hill top as the distance between him and the encroaching shadowy form shrank.  He easily heard the snapping of old oak branches and gnarled pines as the foul creature approached.  The beast's ravenous howls did nothing to ease the Friar Fisher's mind.

    The friar attempted careful aim with his shaking hands as the white furred dire wolf burst from the forest's cover.  The massive she-wolf, nearly as large as the friar himself, savagely bounded over the snow banks with a solitary purpose in mind: feasting on the friar.

    An almost blinding flash of brilliance filled Abe's vision for a second as the bullet roared forth from the barrel, and slammed into the dire wolf's chest.  The piercing ring of the shot sounded only for the briefest of seconds in the friar's ears.   The white beast haltered only for a minute as it absorbed the shallow wound's damage.   A raging bellow passed those snarling lips just before the she-wolf charged the friar, a sparse trail of blood staining the snow behind her.

Chapter 8 and thus the start of 9. GANBARU!!!

I finished Chapter 8 today and have pushed a little forward into Chapter 9 today.   Yatta!  Yatta!  Still going strong, and this will most likely be my longest work to date and hopefully be an actual novel length, a first for me as I've never written anything longer then a short story before this moment.   The current word count is 15,310.  In order for a work to be considered of novel length it must be 40,000 words in length.   Plotting aside that means if I was calculating (wish I don't when I write, I simply let the story flow out from me) I'd need 24,690 more words roughly for this current project to be considered a novel length book.  Which I guess for those that don't know I should do a breakdown of word counts and what they are considered.

1. Flash Fiction:  500-1,000 words   (These are stories that are extremely brief.)
2. Short Story:    1,000-7,500 words generally (These are stories which contain few characters and are concerned with a single mood or theme.)
3. Novelette:   7,500-17,500 words  ( This is still a short story roughly, and usually called a novelette because it is slightly longer then a short story; but shorter then a novella.)
4. Novella:    17,500-40,000 words (This type of story features fewer conflicts then a novel; but also contains more complex conflicts and themes then a simple short story.   And unlike novels they are not usually divided into chapters.)
5. Novels:  30,000 (in general)   40,000 and up (SF &Fantasy) 

What I usually write myself was most likely somewhere between Short Story and Novelette.